


Two Birds On A Wire

by tmesisly



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, Childhood Friends AU, F/M, Love squares, Secret Identities, Slow Burn, miraculous mythos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmesisly/pseuds/tmesisly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One tries to fly away, and the other watches him close from that wire.</i>
</p><p>Marinette is clumsy, forgetful, and uncomfortable in her own skin.  Adrien is lonely, controlled, and exhausted of performing on a pedestal.  Somehow, they've always managed to fill the holes in the other- she makes him feel loved, he makes her feel strong.  But with secrets coming to light and identities beginning to overlap, how long will it take for something to go wrong?</p><p>(Or, that one AU where Marinette and Adrien have been friends since they were seven.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Birds On A Wire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! If you don't know the song lyrics in the title of this fic, I highly recommend looking up Regina Spektor's Two Birds and giving it a listen! I listen to a lot of her music while writing, but the lyrics of Two Birds were what first set me down this story's path.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading!

_ You don’t have to ask for the good things,  _ _ ma chérie _ _.  They’ll find their way to you. _

 

It was something Marinette’s papa had been telling her since she could remember.  Something that was given to her with gentle words and the tap of a floured finger to the tip of her nose.  It was a gentle reminder any time tears stung at her eyes and her little feet stomped against the ground.  A soothing verse any time she let loose with a  _ not fair, not fair, not fair! _

 

But in all six years she’d existed upon the Earth, she’d yet to see her papa’s advice proven true.  Things never waited!  She should know, she was the  _ expert _ in watching things fly on by!  If she didn’t race to the store to get a new toy, it was gone.  If she didn’t rush to the playground, all the good spots were used.  If she didn’t run from the dinner table, her cartoon was over!

 

So today, sitting on the back of their delivery car, her legs swinging back and forth in petulant irritation, she didn’t think that  _ today _ would be any different.

 

“Marinette, sweetheart, you can’t keep sitting there,” her mama said gently, ushering her further to the side so she could slide the trays she was carrying into the back of the van, making sure they were situated securely before turning to her daughter.  Taking in the way Marinette’s jaw was jutted outward, the way her blue eyes were wild with determination, Sabine smiled and reached out to tuck a stray lock behind her daughter’s ear.

 

“I’m not going!” Marinette declared, slapping her hands down against the metal she was sitting on.  “I don’t wanna go to a grown-up party, mama!  I wanna stay and play!”

 

“All by yourself?  Now, now, wouldn’t that just be so boring?” Tom was suddenly at Marinette’s side, scooping her up in his huge hands easily, even if it startled a squeak from the tiny girl.  “If you come with us, not only will you be able to play, but you’ll be able to see the best garden in all of Paris!”

 

Wide blue eyes blinked owlishly down at her father’s face as Marinette found herself sat on one of his shoulders.

 

“In  _ all _ Paris?” she countered,  _ clearly _ not believing her father.

 

“In all of  _ France _ ,” Tom returned, crossing his heart.  Something that Marinette nodded to, clearly at ease with the show of promise that motion declared.

 

“You never know, Marinette,” Sabine said kindly, reaching up for her daughter, letting her cling to her front as Tom handed her down.  “You might even make a new friend!”

 

And while Marinette remained silent, pout still firmly in place as her parents continued loading up the pastries they’d been working on all morning, she couldn’t help but hope that her parents were right.

 

After all, the summer was getting a little lonely.

 

* * *

 

Adrien stood straight, chest puffed up as he held his breath.  Antoine, the stylist his mother had been calling in for him since he was a baby, tutted under his breath as he made minute adjustments to his collar, his sleeves, the way one strand of his hair kept falling into his eyes.  Every inch of him wanted to move, to run around, to climb the small rock wall in the corner of his room and fall to the mats below again and again and again.

 

But instead, he let out that breath slowly before sucking it back in, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as he counted slowly in his head.  All tips and tricks his mother had taught him.  And oh how they were the only things that got him through these kinds of events.

 

“Antoine,” a voice like a chime sounded softly, a pale hand landing on the stylist’s shoulder.  “If you keep prodding at him for much longer, you might lose a finger.”

 

“ _ Mama _ ,” he groaned, embarrassed by her need to step in.  He was good at this, at being dressed up and holding conversations.  Of smiling in ways that made his father’s guests croon and pay compliments.  Of standing with his hands behind his back, perfectly still as the entire room went over to greet them.  “I won’t bite him!”

 

“ _ This _ time,” the stylist scoffed, reaching over one more time to try and smooth that stray hair into where the rest were slicked backwards.  “I’m faster now-  _ aHAH! _ ”  Antoine pulled his hand back just as Adrien let himself go, chomping at the air.  “You little monster!”

 

“Adrien,”  Céline chided, coming over to crouch in front of her son.  Her hair was braided to hang forward over her shoulder, the golden blonde offsetting the black and pink of her gown.  She reached up with shimmering gloves to coax that little piece of hair back in with the others.  “Will getting riled up now help with the gathering downstairs?”

 

“No,  _ mama _ ,” he sighed, trying his best not to make a face as she managed to get his hair to actually cooperate with her.  “I was just--” he was cut off by the feeling of something tingling on his forehead, his eyes going crossed as he tried to look up at the hair that had flopped back into his face.  Behind his mother, Antoine threw up his hands, but Céline just raised one gloved hand to stifle a laugh.  If just for the stylist’s sake.

 

“Oh hush, Antoine, it’s not the end of the world,” she reached for the stylist’s brush, pulling Adrien’s head towards her as she started to gently brush out the last hour’s work.  “You know as well as I do that he takes after me, and not his father.”

 

“Which, my dear, is  _ horrible _ ,” the stylist tittered, flittering back over to watch what Céline was doing with calculating eyes.  “How you manage to continuously pull off the  _ wind tunnel _ look is beyond me!”

 

Adrien listened to their chattering as his mother played with his hair, smoothing the gel and product out of it as best as she could.  He almost let out a breath of relief as he felt everything start to fall naturally around his face again, no longer feeling like he was wearing a wet swim cap on his head.  Céline rewarded him by ruffling his hair, much to Antoine’s horror.

 

“I’ve had my entire life to practice,” Céline shot back.  And from the way Antoine only made a noise in the back of his throat, Adrien assumed that meant his hour of pre-party torture was over.  As such, he reached up, small hands lightly grabbing his mother’s wrists, eyes going wide as he stared up at her.

 

“ _ Maman _ , do I  _ have _ to go?” it was a quiet question, one that hung sadly in the air between them.  Céline’s eyes softened, and she leaned forward to carefully press a kiss against Adrien’s forehead.

 

“I’m sorry, kitten,” was her consolance, and Adrien puffed out his cheeks at that.  Trying his best not to look  _ too _ put out.  If just for his mother’s sake.  “It’ll just be about as long as most of your father’s meetings, don’t worry.  And Chloé will be here.”

 

Laughing at the way Adrien’s cheeks seemed to puff out even further, Céline gently squeezed his face, making all that angry air escape.

 

“You don’t like Chloé anymore?”

 

“I don’t  _ don’t _ like her,” Adrien started slowly, trying to make his mind go through every etiquette lesson he’d had so far in his life in order to… well.  Put this eloquently.  For a seven year old.  “But she just wants to talk about’s  _ clothes _ .”

 

“That’s what your father  _ makes _ , darling,” Céline laughed, tapping a finger against his nose.  “Everyone’s talking about clothes tonight, Adrien.  But come.  You never know what might happen if you come downstairs.”

 

She stood, scooping Adrien up in her arms as she went, and he revelled in the comfort of her arms.

 

* * *

 

A few blocks ago, when Sabine had pointed out the Agreste Mansion through the window, Marinette thought that would be  _ the _ most amazing thing she saw that day.  The house was so big!  It was at least three stories, and had its very own gate!  She couldn’t imagine living in something that large.  Didn’t the people there get lost?

 

She’d asked as much, and her father had chuckled, mentioning that maybe they had maps, like they did in the malls.

 

But just as she was starting to wrap her mind around the house, they rounded the corner and came across something even more amazing.  She’d been to this particular garden before, but it had always been filled with people when the weather was nice.  Now, even though it was pleasantly warm and clear, the only people around the  _ Parc Floral de Paris  _ was a team of people all dressed in the same colors her parents had worn.

 

But while that was impressive, that wasn’t what caused the girl to gasp and press herself against the windows.  No, what was doing  _ that _ were the countless rows of flowers winding their way along pathways lit with fairy lights.  The garden was in bloom, every inch of the laid out gathering color coordinated with the nearest flower groups.  And if that weren’t enough, it seemed even the butterflies had turned up for the event.  Marinette could count  _ five _ already, and she was still in the car!

 

“I didn’t know you could  _ rent _ the gardens,” Sabine was saying quietly, a strange pull in her voice.

 

“It’s Gabriel Agreste,” Tom chuckled, turning off the van and letting himself out.  “He could rent the entire city if he wanted.”

 

The next hour practically flew by for Marinette.  She helped her mother and father unload as much as she could, but eventually her mother laughed and shooed her off to chase butterflies rather than sit and wait for them to finish setting pastries and breads in their proper places.

 

She didn’t go far,  _ couldn’t _ , even if she wanted to.  Security was tight, kind voices turning her around if she strayed too far, letting her wander the beds of flowers without her parents having to worry.

 

It was  _ beautiful _ .  Everywhere she turned there was a different spattering of color, a different shape of flower.  A new, dizzying scent.  It was so amazing and so much that eventually she gave into the urge to just twirl and giggle, so pleased when her movements caused a few nearby butterflies to take wing, swirling around her as if they too were taken with the sheer beauty of this place.

 

Closing her eyes, she let her giggles and spins take over her world, existing in this one, amazing moment.  But, as things often were with Marinette, her moment of bliss was ended by the way her shoe slid on a patch of wet grass.  She squealed as she pitched forward, only to be caught against someone on her way down.

 

As she waited for her world to stop spinning, she found herself blinking up into startled green eyes.

 

“Hi,” the boy she’d fallen against said shyly, pinned between Marinette’s weight and the sparkling skirt of the woman behind him.

 

“Hi,” Marinette giggled in response, still a little dizzy from all the spinning she’d been doing.

 

An answering laugh twinkled from above them, and as Marinette glanced up at the woman behind the boy, she couldn’t help but feel her breath taken away.  She was  _ gorgeous _ .  She looked like those ladies on TV and in magazines, like a  _ movie star _ .  She was tall and skinny, with a smile that lit up her face and sent warmth burning in Marinette’s heart.  She just seemed… so nice.

 

“Adrien, what do we say?” she said gently, reaching over to place a hand on her son’s head.  The boy jumped a little, and Marinette couldn’t help but giggle again at how nervous he seemed.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Marinette felt heat crawl across her cheeks at the heartfelt look in his eyes.  She was so used to the likes of the boys in her class.  Of boys like Kim who teased and didn’t have time for  _ giiiirls _ .  Or of boys like  Nathanaël, who could barely even get  _ near _ her.

 

“Y-yes,” she managed, stepping back and dusting off her dress.  Looking at the dress the lady was wearing as well as the way the boy’s clothes seemed to actually  _ shine _ , she was suddenly very aware of how dull and out of place her red polka dots were.  “Thanks, I just-- I really like the flowers,” she admitted shyly, glancing back to the flower beds around them.

 

The boy’s face scrunched up in confusion before he glanced up at his mother.  Shaking her head, the woman simply pushed him forward, getting him away from where he’d been leaning up against her.  Which left him standing awkwardly in front of her.

 

“Is that why you were spinning?” he was still standing like he didn’t know what to do, but at least now he wasn’t staring Marinette down.  Instead, he had started to peer curiously at the flowers around them.  “Does that make it better?”

 

“ _ No _ , silly,” she couldn’t stop giggling.  There was something about this boy’s confusion that was tickling Marinette pink.  He was so honestly  _ curious _ about what she thought was something so ordinary.  “I was spinning because I was having fun!”

 

She reached out, grabbing his hands and crossing them at the wrists.  Crossing her own, she grabbed ahold of him again, worming her fingers up and under the sleeves of his silly little suit and grasping at his wrists.  After a few adjusting wiggles, she nodded.

 

“What are you--”

 

“Spin.”

 

And with that one, solemn order given, Marinette began to spin.

 

The boy stumbled during the first turn, and her stomach did a little dance as they lurched dangerously close to faceplanting on the ground.  But after a few more steps he seemed to catch on, securing his own hold on her arms and leaning back to mirror her stance.

 

She let out a whoop and a laugh as they started really moving, her feet pushing with small movements against the ground, colors and lights becoming a blur around them.  The boy she was spinning with slowly relaxed, his own laughter echoing hers, just as genuine even if it wasn’t as loud.

 

“See?” She yelled above their laughter, above the slight rushing in her ears.  “Fun!”

 

But as with all spinning adventures, eventually it became too much.  Eventually, their arms grew tired and their legs felt like jelly, and they slowly spun to a breathless stop, staggering forward to lean against each other as their minds continued to spin round and round and round.

 

“Okay, okay,” he finally relented, and Marinette found she liked hearing this boy laugh.  “Spinning is  _ definitely _ fun.”

 

“Toooold you,” she sang, wiggling the shoulder he was using as a leaning post.  “Guess I’m not as goofy anymore!”

 

“I never said you were goofy!” he squeaked, actually  _ squeaked _ , before going red as a tomato at the sound he’d just made.  Marinette, at least, had been raised to be polite.  Which was why she slapped hands to her mouth  _ before _ she doubled over laughing.

 

“Marinette?  Marinette!  Oh,  _ there _ you are!” the slightly chiding voice of her mother was what eventually brought her back to her senses.  She turned, still giggling, and let her mother embrace her, kissing her cheek in greeting before turning back to the boy and his mother.  She’d been  _ about _ to introduce her new spinning partner when her mother fully took in the woman standing in front of them, gasping softly into her hand as she did.

 

“ _ Oh _ , you’re--” suddenly, Sabine dipped down in a curtsy.  An act that confused Marinette to no end.

 

The woman held her hand in front of her mouth, blocking the soft chuckle that escaped.

 

“ Céline Agreste,” she confirmed, a name that widened Marinette’s eyes before they shot down to the boy still hovering in front of his mother’s legs.  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Madame Dupain-Cheng.”

 

Which made that  _ Adrien Agreste _ .  The fashion mogul’s son.  The son who was her age.  The son whose picture was in every department store in Paris.

 

_ How _ had she not recognized him?

 

* * *

 

The second the weird girl recognized him, Adrien felt his heart sink.  In the rare times he met someone else his age, it usually went like this.  They were fine,  _ fun _ , up until they were told who he was.  Until their parents practically fell over themselves to explain that he was Adrien.  The young face of fashion in Paris.  The boy in the commercials, on tv, walking a catwalk in his father’s shows since he was four.

 

The problem was, this girl had seemed  _ fun.   _ In a completely new way, a way Adrien had no idea about.  She wasn’t like Chloé, she didn’t tote around the latest bag and complain for hours that her father wouldn’t let her wear as much makeup as she’d seen on  _ other _ girls their age.  No, the taste of fun this girl had given him was something completely different.  Something free and wild, something that had Adrien’s heart racing and a very ungentlemanly cry being let loose.

 

And now, that was all going to go away.

 

Swallowing, Adrien reached up to try and pull his hair back up into place, tucking it behind his ears as he fell backwards to his place at his mother’s side.  One step to the side, a half step back.  Shoulders loose, back held straight, hands behind him, one hand around a wrist as he raised his chin up to keep from slouching.

 

“The pleasure is all ours, Madame Agreste,” Mrs. Dupain-Cheng was responding, recovering from her surprise with a smoothness Adrien could tell impressed his mother.  “I hope you don’t mind that Tom and I brought our Marinette,” she placed a hand on the still wide-eyed girl’s shoulder, causing her to let out a small  _ eep _ as she jumped out of the slight trance she’d seemed to fall into.  “The last time we left her with a babysitter, she’d tied the poor thing up with toilet paper and decorated the living room with icing.”

 

“ _ Mama _ ,” the girl groaned, burying her face in her hands.  “That was  _ years _ ago!”

 

Despite her clear embarrassment, Adrien had to duck his head and bite his lip to keep from laughing at the mental image.  A motion he couldn’t quite sneak by his mother, considering the hand she let rest on his head, fingers playing with his hair absently.

 

“Don’t worry, Marinette,” Céline reassured the mortified girl.  “The last time Adrien had a babysitter, he hid from her in the air vents after she told him he couldn’t have a cookie before bed,” Adrien felt his cheeks heat up, his head jerking up to stare at his mother in utter betrayal.  “His father almost organized a manhunt, but it turned out he’d just gotten his pants stuck on the grating and couldn’t come out!”

 

“ _ Maman _ !” he mirrored Marinette’s earlier horror, although his groan was more of a gasp of surprise.  His mother had  _ never _ brought up his rebellious moments, even at home.  When it was just the two of them.  And yet here she was, standing next to him at the start of an event, spilling his darkest secrets.

 

“The air vents?” the sound of Marinette’s curious laugh sent another wave of embarrassment trickling down his spine.  He turned to the girl, expecting to see someone peering shyly from her mother’s side, and found himself leaning back by her sudden proximity.

 

She had her hands clasped behind her back, leaning forward with an impish grin on her face, those blue eyes wide and shining.

 

“How’d you get  _ in them _ ?” she seemed to be practically breathless at the prospect of something so daring.

 

“Oh dear,” Marinette’s mom laughed behind her, shaking her head slowly.  “Now you’ve done it.  She’ll have that idea in her head for the next few months!”

 

“I-- uh--” nothing in his father’s lessons had prepared him for this.  Marinette wasn’t a government official, she wasn’t a designer, a relative, a family friend, a business partner.  She was just a girl.  A girl who was  _ really _ interested in something Adrien had been grounded for  _ months _ for doing.  Something he had expressly been told never to speak or even  _ think _ of again.

 

And yet, his  _ mother _ had brought it up.  So, after a second of startled, panicked thinking, a cheshire grin pulled at his lips.  “A bookcase and a coin.”

 

The delighted squeal Marinette let out was reward enough for whatever trouble he would get in over this getting brought up again.  The girl clapped her hands together in front of her, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Adrien couldn’t help but feel himself caught up in her enthusiasm, his startled laughter bubbling out on the heels of her excited giggling.

 

“That’s  _ amazing _ !  Too bad the bakery’s are too small-- oh!” she turned quick as a flash, grabbing her mother’s hand and tugging at it impatiently.  As if she didn’t already have the woman’s attention.  Adrien found himself standing awkwardly, still amused but also  _ baffled _ by the behavior she was apparently encouraged to show.  “Mama, mama, can I give him some of the extras?”

 

“I’m sure he’s had some of the appetizers, sweetheart,” Mrs. Dupain-Cheng said sweetly, sparing a glance towards Céline.

 

The blonde woman shook her head, putting a hand on Adrien’s back and giving him a little nudge forward.

 

“Actually, we’d just gotten here when we saw Marinette in the flowers.  Go on, kitten--”

 

“ _ Mama _ !”  

 

“The Dupain-Cheng’s have the best pastries in all of Paris,” she gave him another nudge, sensing her son’s hesitation.  “ _ Go _ , Adrien.  I’ll let your father know you’re helping with the testing.”

 

Before he could say anything (or protest the use of his mother’s embarrassing nickname in front of a  _ girl _ , of all people) Adrien found his hand being grabbed, Marinette yelling a thank you at both women as she dragged him through the crowd of early guests and servers.  He followed, wide-eyed, returning greetings as best as he could while he was being dragged through.  His heart was hammering in his chest, his mind counting up every etiquette error he was committing until the number became so high he could barely even  _ think _ about how much trouble he was in.

 

So, he stopped thinking.  He stopped trying to return greeting and just focused on following Marinette, of dancing around servers and caterers, the crowding of guests suddenly morphing into the slightly more chaotic movements of the catering staff.  Here, he was really at Marinette’s mercy, relying on her movements to navigate the strange energy and bustle of the behind the scenes work.

 

After narrowly avoiding a handful of spills, dodging away from a food cart, and nearly burning his bowtie on the sudden blare from a burner, he found himself standing at the open back of a van, a little out of breath and very,  _ very _ confused.  Marinette had let go of his hand almost immediately, practically diving into the mess of pastry parchment and saran wrapping in the back of the truck.  He could just barely see glimpses of her hair and dress through the crinkling chaos in front of him.

 

“Marinette?” he rolled up onto his tip toes, trying to figure out just what she was doing in there.  “Are you okay?  Do you need--”

 

“AHA!  Found ii--EEP!!”

 

For the third time in the last fifteen minutes, Adrien found himself with a facefull of Marinette.  Only  _ this _ time, he was stumbling backwards as she came barrelling out of the truck, her feet tangled up in the delivery tape.  And, for the first time since his father had made him start attending the ridiculous classes, Adrien was glad that he’d been attending both fencing and gymnastics since he was old enough to walk.

 

He knew full well that any other two seven-year-olds would have just fallen down.  Would have hurt themselves and run to their parents with skinned knees and teary eyes.  But he was an Agreste.  And Agrestes were poised.  Were controlled.  Agrestes didn’t fall, they held themselves up and helped others do the same.  At least, that’s what his mother told him every time he fell behind in his studies, every time he couldn’t get a certain form  _ just _ right.

 

So, somehow, he managed to catch Marinette, his arms up and looping under hers as she fell, catching her in a strange sling, her upper body against his and her heels still braced up against the back of the truck.  A small package was clutched to her chest, her eyes screwed shut as she was left braced for a fall that never came.

 

“Wh-” he watched as her eyes opened, as she looked up at his startled face in confusion.  Watched as the confusion turned into something half between frustration and embarrassment.  “Oh!  There’s a  _ step _ .  I always forget there’s a step there.”

 

Wiggling, she somehow managed to get herself both down from the truck as well as out of Adrien’s arms.  She took just a moment to adjust her dress and unwrap the tape from around her ankle before shoving the lumpy bit of cloth at Adrien.

 

“Here,” her grin was back, widening even more at the utter confusion Adrien was feeling.  “Papa knew I would get hungry here, and as good as all the food we made was, it’s for the guests, not me.  So he snuck in some treats when Mama wasn’t looking.  Here!” she reached over, pulling the plaid cloth aside, revealing a few pastries that  _ definitely _ wouldn’t fit into Adrien’s current meal plan.  “This one’s  _ flans pâtissier _ , that’s a calisson, and  _ those _ are Papa’s Macarons!” she sounded so proud of the little, pink macarons that Adrien couldn’t help but reach for those first, even if  _ all _ of the sweets were making his mouth water just thinking of them.

 

“Ah!” Marinette’s hand was suddenly reaching out, stopping Adrien’s before he could pick one up.  He glanced up at her, watching as her cheeks flushed red, her brain just catching up with her movements.  “They’re-- they’re rose flavored.  A lot of my classmates don’t like them, so I just-- I wanted to warn you before you tried them.”

 

“Do  _ you _ like them?” he couldn’t help but grin as he asked the obvious question, watching as Marinette puffed her cheeks out in response.

 

“Of  _ course _ I do!  They’re my Papa’s.  I like  _ everything _ he makes!”

 

“Then I’ll like them, too,” placing the cloth full of treats on the back of the truck, Adrien picked up one of the pink macarons, breaking it neatly in half before presenting to Marinette.  “Here,” he sure that the smile he gave her now wasn’t anything like those wide, practiced grins he gave for cameras.  He’d… never met someone who  _ shared _ anything with him.  He wanted to make sure this was special, even if she couldn’t understand why it would be.  “I don’t wanna take your favorite, Marinette.”

 

“Oh,” the girl seemed a little dumbfounded, her movements slow and careful as she took her half of the macaron, cheeks back to matching the red in her dress.  She blinked down at the treat in her hands, as if not really believing it was there.

 

Grinning, Adrien tapped his half against hers, mimicking the toasts he’d seen his father give again and again.

 

“To spinning in the gardens,” he said, startling Marinette out of her thoughts.

 

“To not falling out of Papa’s delivery trucks,” she returned the little tap, giggling before popping her macaron in her mouth.

 

When Adrien did the same, he was glad to see that he was right.  He  _ did _ like the rose.


End file.
